Your Guardian Angel
by time-traveling-angel
Summary: An AU of BBC's Sherlock where angels and daemons exist. Sherlock and John are about to meet their very first angel, and things start to be set in motion...pre-Great Game, in between Blind Banker and Great Game.
1. a window, a man, and an angel

**So this is an AU of BBC's Sherlock, where there are angels and daemons. The consulting detective and army doctor are about to encounter their very first one...Reviews would be nice, but you don't have to if you don't want to. :) Enjoy!**

Sherlock and John met their guardian angel in the most unexpected of ways; she came crashing into their lives.

Literally…unfortunately.

John was sitting at his normal spot on his side of the table, typing away on his ever-growing popular blog. Sherlock had been flicking through some files that had been piling up in the corner next to the couch, his mind racing with questions about their current case.

Suddenly, the window behind John shattered, and something rolled on through, crashing over Sherlock's chair. John had automatically stood up, his gun ready to shoot at whatever the threat possibly was. Sherlock turned around quickly, his eyes narrowing.

"Ouch…" they heard. "Son of a bitch…" It sounded like a girl; not a teenager, but not yet a woman, if Sherlock had his theory right.

He did. She was leaning against the bottom of John's chair, one of her legs resting on the opposing chair's cushion. She seemed confused, and was shaking her head as she adjusted her position. She looked to be almost twenty, maybe nineteen, in appearance.

"One moment you're sitting on cloud nine and the next thing you know they throw you through a window…" The girl didn't seem to notice the two men standing there until she looked up. She stared for a few seconds, frozen at the sight. Her light brown eyes watched them carefully, and she tugged at the tan newsboy hat covering her long brown hair with a fingerless gloved hand.

"Sherlock Holmes? John Watson?" she asked tentatively.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, and her gaze snapped over to him.

"The name's Raphaela," she said, getting up. John kept his gun trained on her though; he wouldn't lower it until he knew that she wasn't a threat.

"Raphaela?" the army doctor asked, his blue eyes curious.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, sounds like Raphael, one of the bigger angel's names, everyone knows him," she said, finally standing up completely. She wasn't very tall, and was built more on the stocky side. She rubbed the back of her head, looking around the flat.

"And why did you smash through the window?" John asked, lowering his gun ever so slightly.

"Well, how else was I supposed to get in?"

Just then, the doorbell rang, and she swiveled her head towards the sound, her eyes shifting back and forth slightly. She heard someone downstairs walking towards the door, and her eyes widened.

"Wait, don't answer it!" she shouted, dashing through the open flat door faster than Sherlock and John could process. There was a shout, and a gunshot went off. John moved quickly towards the door, and managed to get out of the way just in time for the girl, Raphaela, to come sailing through, skidding to a halt on her back. She glared at the man who had come up the stairs, her rage barely contained.

Before John could do anything, Raphaela shot past him, and jumped, smashing against the man with both of her feet. They fell down the flight of stairs, muffled grunts and yells echoing up the staircase.

Suddenly, just as quickly as it had started, the fighting stopped. Footsteps sounded, and Raphaela returned, her chest rising and falling quickly.

"Now do you see why I came through the window?" she asked, leaning against the door frame. "Mrs. Hudson is fine, too. The bullet hit the wall, but she suffered no injuries." John moved past her, giving her a brief glance as he made his way to the landlady to be sure.

Sherlock just looked at the girl, and her gaze slid over to his. "He was a hit man. He was here for John, not you."

"Really?" Sherlock asked, his face calm. But Raphaela could see a small panic in his eyes. She knew how he was.

"Yes. He's very gravely injured though. I don't know if he'll make it." Raphaela stopped talking when John came back up.

"She's fine." The army doctor stopped a couple feet from Raphaela. "How did you know?" She could hear the suspicion in his voice.

"Because it's my job to know if someone nearby is going to hurt either one of you. Trust me when I say this, but you have no idea how many people I've stopped from trying to even get a chance to do so."

"Job?"

She sighed a little, and walked into the flat until she was standing in front of the fireplace. Suddenly, two great big black wings extended behind her shoulders. The rows of feathers grew lighter as they reached towards the bottom, and grey streaks and dots were scattered throughout them.

"Yeah. Guardian angel. It's a job."


	2. deductions, deductions, deductions

The consulting detective and his blogger just stared at her, unable to say anything without it sounding insane. She stood there, and folded her arms. A wing shook, as if to emphasis that they were indeed there.

It was Sherlock who first spoke up.

"How?"

"Guardian angels are normally assigned one a person. You two are one of the few exceptions." She leaned her head down a little, and folded the wings up until they were tucked against her back.

"You…can't be real," John said.

One of her wings popped back out, and she moved forward a couple feet. The tips of the wing rested on his shoulder, and he reached up to touch it. It certainly felt real.

The wing drew back, and stretched itself out before folding back against her again.

"Why are you here then?" John asked. Sherlock was observing her, and walked closer towards her. Questions spun through his mind, and he gently took a hold of her left wing, stretching it out slightly. She didn't seem to mind him doing so, and pulled it out further, as if looking for something, anything, to prove that the wings were not real.

"Someone wants me to keep an even closer eye on you two," Raphaela explained as Sherlock carefully examined her wing. She could hear him muttering something to himself, as if taking in everything he was seeing through words. "It would be best if I was here more than where you couldn't see me."

Sirens were wailing closer to 221B, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice for a few seconds. Finally annoyed with his muttering, Raphaela took her wing and smacked Sherlock on the back of the head with it when he had turned around, his attention finally diverted because of the sound.

He turned to glare at her, and all she said was, "Better have a good story for them" before she disappeared right in front of them, as if she had never been there in the first place.

John managed to make up a story when Lestrade had arrived. Mrs. Hudson didn't seem to remember Raphaela, but told him that the man had seemed to ignore her, as if she hadn't been right in front of him.

Sherlock said nothing, and the body was taken away for Molly to examine. Soon after, the police began to leave, until only Lestrade remained. He told John to contact him if anything else a rose, and left without another word.

Sherlock watched the DI leave through the now fixed window, and John was making some tea in the kitchen when he heard what sounded like rustling wings. Glancing out towards the living room, he saw Raphaela standing in front of the fireplace, her wings slightly extended.

"Nice story," she said, flopping down in John's chair. Sherlock turned around, and she tilted her head, giving him a small smile. John set the ready tea next to her on the stand, and she said, "Smells great."

Sherlock sat across from her, his hands in a prayer like position as he leaned forward on his knees towards her. She said nothing for a few seconds, but then asked, "Am I really that interesting?"

"You call yourself a guardian angel."

"I am one."

"Your wings are real."

"Certainly hope so, or I may have to talk to someone about getting ones that are."

"You said someone threw you down."

"True, and Michael wasn't exactly nice about it. He certainly didn't like what I had done a couple years ago, so no; I guess he wouldn't refuse tossing me down to Earth."

"You disappear quickly enough," John said, and she smiled for a second before saying, "Every angel can do that. It's one of my favourite things about being one."

She extended her right wing, and John leaned back slightly.

"Oh do stop. It won't bite," she said, shaking said wing at him slightly before bringing it in front of her. It stopped a few inches from Sherlock's hands, and he couldn't help but be fascinated by them. The idea of a real angel never passed through his mind, but here was living, breathing proof that they were here. He held a feather between two fingers, feeling the softness of it.

"You, on the other hand," she said, looking over at Sherlock. "Can't seem to get enough of examining my wings, huh?"

He didn't answer, but let go of the feather. She drew back the wing, draping it over the side of the chair, avoiding the tea carefully.

The consulting detective, John noticed, wasn't rambling about possibilities, or speaking so fast that his ears couldn't keep up about how she got here or why. In fact, it was as if Raphaela's appearance seemed to 180 his personality.

"Begin." He kept his eyes on the angel as he leaned back in his chair, and she gave him a small nod.

"If you insist…"


	3. a story, visitation hours, and a gun

"I'm much older than I look. This body is mine, yes, but only recently. I've been an angel for over 600 years, at least. I don't really remember when I became one.

"Angels are warriors of God. That being said, we generally are not what society depicts us as. Sad? A little. But it's the truth. They go after the bad ones, the ones who oppose us…But guardian angels are different. Very.

"We don't fight with the other angels. We wait, however long, until we're assigned a person. A guardian angel is earned, not born with, and you only have one your entire life. So, if I was killed, or you were killed, I would never have another partner, or you would never have another guardian. You have to show that _you _can be saved, should the time ever call for it. So, yes, not everyone in the world has an angel 'on their shoulder', if you will. We are just as powerful as angels, but if we're injured or killed, it doesn't take as much as it would a warrior angel.

"I was assigned to Sherlock about four years ago," she said, and the latter's eyebrows rose a fraction. "At the time, he didn't have many enemies, nor was he in too much trouble. I'm guessing that's why they assigned me a second one. Now, know this. For a guardian angel to have two partners is extremely rare. I'm one of the five in the entire place to have two. Why, well…no one really knows. We have theories, but, so far, nothing's turned up.

"You were in Afghanistan when I was attached to you," she said, looking over at John. He had sat down at the table, and looked a little surprised at her statement.

"I didn't think much of it, really. I had better things to attend to at the time, but God…" Raphaela gave them a small smile, her eyes glinting in the sunset. "You two are quite the duo to cause trouble of late, huh? Always causing mischief, curiosity killing the cat…you both seem to know how that works."

"What happens now, then?" John asked her, and she shrugged. Sherlock hadn't said anything, and had barely moved during her story.

"I'll drop by every now and then to check up on you. Maybe follow you places. The usual guardian business. If you need me, don't hesitate to call. But, know this – I'm not here to deal with things that are trivial. If you both are in serious trouble, let me know. Other than that…"

She gave them a nod, and disappeared from the chair, a small chuckle echoing in the silence as she departed.

o~O~o

Raphaela dropping by unexpectedly didn't take as long to get used to as Sherlock and John thought it would. The first few times were the worst though.

John would be typing on his blog, look up when Sherlock either left to go get something from somewhere or when he came back, resume typing, and glance up again to see the angel sitting right across from him. He jerked backwards in his chair slightly, but steadied himself in seconds.

"Every time I come over, you're on that thing. What gives?" she asked him once, taking a look around the room. She looked a little confused when she saw the headphones on the skull that was on the wall above the table, but shrugged it off.

"I write blogs about the cases," John answered. "I thought you knew about that stuff."

"Guardian angels are not all knowing. Besides, it's much more polite to ask than invade," she said. "You guys have your privacy. I have mine. If you want me to know something, then you can tell me. I won't go behind you. I promise."

John looked up at her, and saw her looking right at him, truth in her eyes.

"Sounds acceptable." She smiled at that, and watched him type for a while, her eyes looking just like Sherlock's when he was curious. She disappeared and reappeared behind John, her chin nearly resting on his shoulder.

"You have a good amount of visitors," she noted, and John smiled slightly. "It seems like you two have some fans." She looked up when Sherlock came into the room, and said, "Looks like the consulting detective is becoming famous." The latter narrowed his eyes fractionally, and she patted John's shoulder before disappearing out of the flat.

However, it wasn't always the best timing. One time, Lestrade and his other officers were coming up the stairs, and Raphaela had appeared. John panicked slightly, since her wings were completely out, and she didn't seem to know what was happening. One look from her partners though, and she disappeared a second before Lestrade appeared in the doorway. John's heart rate slowed after a few minutes, and she only reappeared after Lestrade left, her face apologetic.

But as the days passed, the two began to notice that she was similar in both of their personalities. One time, John was out, and Sherlock had been growing bored. He had drawn a yellow smiley face on the wall, and was shooting at it with one hand. Raphaela had appeared then, jumping back slightly when the gun went off again.

"What the hell?" she asked.

Sherlock looked over at her, saying, "Bored."

"Ah, yes, and the wall gets the punishment for it?" She shook her head, disappearing into the kitchen. She may have been Sherlock's angel for a while longer than John's, but she didn't understand him nearly as well as the army doctor.

"Wall had it coming," she heard Sherlock say, and smiled briefly before grabbing a handful of small sharp knives as more gunshots went off. She leaned in the kitchen doorway, and held one of the blades in between her fingers, aiming carefully.

The blade landed right in between the smiley face's eyes.

Sherlock looked over at her, lifting one eyebrow.

"What, you can shoot the wall but I can't practice my aim?" Four more knives hit the face, and she turned her head when she heard John approaching up the stairs.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked. He glanced between Sherlock and Raphaela, looking as if he was trying to decide which one to strangle first. Suppressing a smile, the angel said, "Bored" before vanishing, her laugh echoing in the flat.


	4. an angel, a daemon, and a bomb

The guardian angel dropped by again, around the same time as John, to see the windows of 221B blown in. Eyes widening, she ran in through the door, everyone ignoring her. It was easy when you could make yourself invisible.

She could tell that John was close behind her, but she didn't reveal herself; sometimes she just needed to hear what had happened. They didn't need to see her every time she checked up on them.

She paused on the landing to the flat, and let John pass her. He needed to know first, she had learned. If Sherlock or John was in trouble, the other needed to see them with their own eyes, not by someone else's mouth.

Following the army doctor inside the door, she saw Sherlock sitting in his usual chair, his brother Mycroft across from him. Mycroft Holmes, even though he didn't seem like he'd be someone to save, also had an angel. Cambiel, who was standing behind the man, looked over at her, his face expressionless. He was wearing a black suit under a tan overcoat, and his black hair was messed up slightly, as per usual. She vaguely wondered if Mycroft knew about him before turning her attention to her boys. Sherlock looked unhurt, for which she was grateful. Her attention had been diverted the other night, preventing her from checking in with them sooner.

The detective mentioned something about a gas leak when Cambiel appeared next to Raphaela, motioning for her to talk to him. She faced him fully, her eyes watching his blue ones carefully.

"This wasn't accidental," he told her, his deep voice sounding grave.

"No?"

"No. Someone deliberately set off a bomb from across the street, not a gas leak," Cambiel explained. "It's a message for your clients: 'back off'."

"My boys," the guardian angel began, crossing her arms, her wings shaking slightly. "Are more than capable of taking care of themselves. And besides, you should know just as well as your partner does, that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson will _never _back off from something."

"Watch them carefully Raphaela," the other angel said, resting a hand on her shoulder, his great black wings moving ever so slightly. "They're investigating a matter that can kill them."

She blanched slightly, and her mouth thinned as she glanced over at the two.

"Does Mycroft know about you?" she asked Cambiel, flicking her eyes back to him. He raised an eyebrow, saying, "When the time comes" before following after his partner through the door, his overcoat blowing slightly in the air as they walked down the stairs.

"Angels," she snorted slightly. She looked back over to her partners, a worried look forming on her face. They may have been capable of taking care of themselves, but she couldn't help but worry about them.

o~O~o

James Moriarty.

Oh how that name struck a bell.

Raphaela watched from the kitchen doorway as the two discussed the latest case and her eyes narrowed when Sherlock mentioned Moriarty. That name was common in heaven. Common to hear about, at least.

He _definitely _never had an angel.

But he did have a daemon.

"I think he wants to be distracted," Sherlock said, holding his fingertips close to his face, almost in a prayer-like position.

"Then he got what he wanted," the angel replied, her voice cool.

"What does that mean?" John inquired.

"Moriarty. I've heard of him. He's common talk in heaven. No one likes him. Not. One. He's destructive, arrogant, and extremely clever," Raphaela told them, her wings shaking ever so slightly with anger. "And he has a daemon."

"What?"

"A daemon. Fallen angel. Hates non-fallen angels. Anything?" She pushed herself off the frame, crossing her arms. "Looks like your education needs another dose of info."

"A daemon, Raphaela," Sherlock said, his voice commanding in authority.

She ignored the prickle of annoyance, and continued. "Surely since there are angels, there must be daemon as well, yeah? Moriarty is almost a daemon himself. If, no, _when, _he goes to Hell, no doubt he'll become one."

John cleared his throat, a signal for her to move on.

"Anyways, daemons are beings you don't want to get mixed up with. They're very cunning, and will make deals that end in your death. Most reasons for their doings are for personal gain, and rarely will they ever work with humans just because. They are tortured beings, and would gladly cut a human open for fun. In other words, your pain is their pleasure."

"And Moriarty has one?"

"According to Uriel, my old friend that's still upstairs. Daemon is named Crowley. Wants to be the King of Hell. Very selfish, very clever, and extremely dangerous. Doesn't surprise me that he teamed up with Moriarty; but the destruction they could make…" Raphaela shook her head. "Be careful with this one, you two. I trust you both to be able to keep your heads on straight. Just make sure that Crowley or Moriarty don't mount them on their mantle."


End file.
